


Runaway

by PinkViking



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Dry Humping, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension, Top Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-11-07 00:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17949875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkViking/pseuds/PinkViking
Summary: “I ain't your mistress, John.” Arthur’s hand lowered from John’s cheek to grip at his throat tightly instead. “I won't be your side piece again. You made your choice.”John’s hand loosely grappled at the fingers around his throat and he gasped. His face was still rosy but now it was mosty due to the lack of air reaching his lungs. The boy looked a mess and it made Arthur reconsider his feelings, but only for a moment.“What did ya want me to do?” John choked, “ya want me to marry ya?”***John made his choice and that choice did not involve Arthur Morgan.





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve made some changes to this fic. Namely the title as I felt the old one didn’t suit it. Haha.

Another day, another successful job, another party. 

The camp, pitched right by the Western river, was singing with the sounds of laughter, music and upbeat chatter as the gang celebrated their recent string of good luck. Alcohol was plentiful thanks to a wagon chock full of moonshine, which had all but fallen into their hands that same morning (directly after their bountiful bank robbery), and now everyone was sporting a pleasant rosy hue across their cheeks. The darker the pigment the more intoxicated they were.

Arthur stood back and watched the festivities from afar, alternating between sucking on the premium cigarette in his right hand and the lip of the Kentucky Bourbon bottle in his left. He never was much of a social butterfly, preferring to observe rather than participate. Dutch often called him a sour puss or a party pooper because of it but Arthur didn't much mind. 

His blue eyes, tinted orange by the setting sun, scanned the scene before him, drinking in the view, a slight smile spread across his lips.

Dutch and Hosea were having an animated disagreement over the impact Evelyn Miller’s literature had on the modern world; Dutch insisting that he was the most influential writer in history. Bill was shedding his garments as he chased a squealing Karen into the river, the summer evening heat causing sweat to glisten across his hairy beer belly, and Uncle was sprawled out under an oak tree, hat over his face, napping. Of course. Everyone else was sculling the stolen liquor and dancing to Javier’s sanguine tunes. 

Arthur found himself pausing as his eyes fell upon John Marston. The young man was extending a hand to his current squeeze, the young, pretty Abigail, beckoning her to dance. She was the gangs’ newest member, having joined their merry troupe only six months ago. Abigail was a common whore and a pickpocket but that didn't bother Arthur. She was a nice gal and it wasn’t her fault John was such a scumbag. The girl had no idea she was caught in the middle of something between the two men. 

The petite brunette took John’s hand with a giggle and a courtesy and the two of them clumsily danced, obviously affected by the liquor they had consumed earlier. Arthur found himself frowning as he watched and turned away, an unwanted but familiar emotion twisting and turning deep within his belly. 

To stop the feelings from bubbling up to the surface Arthur quickly sucked down the last of his bourbon, throwing the bottle to the ground and then slunk off in the opposite direction to camp, leaving the sounds and sights behind him. 

Fingers fumbled another cigarette from the box kept in his breast pocket, placing it between his dry lips as he went. The image of John and Abigail had him rattled. Clearly he was still sorting out his feelings and it left him frustrated to no end. Surely it was meant to get easier as time went on? Apparently not. All Arthur could do was put on a brave face and act indifferent. Like he was no longer bothered by what John Marston was up to.

Arthur groaned slightly as he crouched down to sit, leaning his back against the large boulder atop the small, grassy hill close to camp. The hill overlooked the nearby farming village, Serenity. There was nothing particularly special about Serenity but, when the sunset bathed the town and nearby dams in oranges and pinks, it was quite the sight. Worthy of a sketch in his journal. Arthur was a little disappointed he didn't have the leather bound book on his person right now. 

Arthur swiped a match on the underside of his boot and lit the roll hanging from his mouth, puffing at it few times, causing the smoke to pool around his face. He felt at peace, mind no longer racing, instead focusing on the view, studying it and saving every detail to memory for later. No matter how bad life got a simple sunset could undo all the negativity, even if it was just for a little while.

The quiet moment was not to last though as the crunch of sloppy footsteps on grass and leaves grew near.

“There ya are.”

The slurred words and husky voice instantly set Arthur on edge.

“Saw ya stompin’ off on ya lonesome.” John’s voice was carrying a tone of amusement.

“I weren’t stompin’,” Arthur snapped, shifting uncomfortably as John slid down beside him, a little too close for what was usually deemed appropriate. 

John raised his bottle of moonshine to Arthur’s face, shaking it impatiently. Arthur presumed it was an offer and he quickly waved his hand, declining the gesture. The younger man shrugged and took a large swig, tilting his head back, neck on show. The prominent Adam's apple bobbing as the liquid slid down his throat. Arthur caught himself staring and snapped his head back towards the sunset. 

A small sound, something between a hiccup and a burp, escaped John’s throat as he brought a hand up to wipe away some of the booze that dribbled from the corners of his lips and down his neck. 

“So, what’cha doin’ out here?” He asked. Arthur could feel John’s gaze on him as he waited for an answer.

“Nothin’. Just, thinkin’ and watchin’ the sun set.” Arthur answered, drawing in the smoke from the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. He took it from his mouth and blew the vapour out towards the view.

Arthur moved to take another puff but was stopped when John’s slender, bony hand cupped his, forcing it down to his chapped lips. Dark stubble brushed across Arthur’s fingertips as the young man sucked the roll once, twice, three times. His hand lingered a little longer than necessary before letting go. Arthur quickly brought the cigarette back to his own mouth and caught himself blushing. John must have noticed too because he laughed and leaned his head against Arthur’s shoulder causing the older man’s whole body to stiffen.

“Miss this.” John sighed, playfully bumping his knee against Arthur’s. The simple touch causing heat to pool low in his belly.

“John.” Arthur’s voice was deep. A warning. 

The warning was ignored as John turned his face upwards to nuzzle his nose against the tanned skin of Arthur's collarbone, exposed by his half unbuttoned shirt. The boy was radiating warmth, a mixture of the hot summer air and alcohol. The latter clearly giving John an extra boost of courage. It felt nice to be touched and wanted, even if John only wanted one thing from him. It had been so long since Arthur had received this kind of affection… four months to be exact. He was starved of it.

“We ain’t doin’ this, Marston.” Arthur hated how weak and reluctant he sounded. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to stop his voice from stuttering his words.

“Doin’ what?” John smirked and pressed his rough lips against the older man’s throat, tongue darting out subtly to taste him. The kiss was sloppy, a wet trail was left in place of his lips as John moved his mouth higher and higher until he was mouthing and licking at Arthur’s jaw. 

Arthur found himself tilting his head, giving the younger man more access and John took it as confirmation that he could continue, soft kisses occasionally turning into cheeky nibbles and sucks. Arthur had to bite his bottom lip to muffle the groan that snuck through. There would be marks on his throat in the morning, a reminder of the power John still held over him.

John placed the bottle of moonshine down onto the grassy soil to their side, absentmindedly kicking it over whilst swinging his leg across Arthur’s lap to stradle him. The glass tumbled and rolled down the hill, dark liquid spilling into the dirt, going to waste. John was breathing against the elder’s bearded cheek as he continued to work at the sensitive skin at his jaw and throat with his overeager mouth. One of his slender hands roamed over the broad chest in front of him, the other running through Arthur’s sandy blond hair. John’s thick arousal, contained in cotton trousers, obvious against Arthur’s stomach. 

“Don’t play dumb.” Was all Arthur could think to say as he removed the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it to the side. His hands then came up to cup John’s face. Dark, mischievous eyes locked onto Arthur’s lighter ones. Only occasionally did John’s eyes drop down to gaze at his lips, hinting at what he desired. Arthur wanted to let him have it.

Arthur studied the adolescent man for a moment. He was a young adult, twenty two years of age but he could easily pass for older. That's what this life did, it aged you beyond your years. John’s face was thin and a little gaunt, hair greasy and as black as a raven. Attractive was probably not the word you’d use to describe him but the confidence the man displayed in himself gave off the illusion that he was.

John turned his head impatiently and took Arthur’s thumb into his mouth, licking and sucking at it suggestively, watching the man through his thick black eyelashes, eyes lidded with want and need. He was daring Arthur to take this further but John was drunk and Arthur realised he was still hurting inside.

“You’re as drunk as a skunk.” Arthur said quietly, removing his thumb from John’s mouth, ignoring the whine that left the man’s throat. 

“I need you, Arthur.” John begged as he kissed the palm against his cheek, hips rolling down to really drive home what he was after, “need you so bad. Miss it.”

Suddenly Arthur found himself filling with anger.

“You _need_ me, huh?” The words hissed out from his throat before he could stop himself. “I ain't your mistress, John.” Arthur’s hand lowered from John’s cheek to grip at his throat tightly instead. “I won't be your side piece again. You made your choice.” 

John’s hand loosely grappled at the fingers around his throat and he gasped. His face was still rosy but now it was mosty due to the lack of air reaching his lungs. The boy looked a mess and it made Arthur reconsider his feelings, but only for a moment. 

“What did ya want me to do?” John choked, “ya want me to marry ya?”

Arthur removed his hand from the younger man and shoved him hard, sending him tumbling onto the grass and dirt. John looked angry but the boy didn't move from where he fell. Instead he just looked up defiantly, brows furrowed and jaw clenched.

“Don’t patronise me, ya drunk idiot.” Arthur spat as he got to his feet, looming over the figure below him. “I loved you and you strung me along like a fool.” He could hear himself getting emotional and took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing, “and here you are doin’ it again.”

John averted his eyes as he sat up straight, a hand reaching up to scratch through his tangled black locks. “Ya know I feel the same way…” John muttered, Arthur wasn’t so sure, “but it ain’t like we could actually be together…”

Arthur sucked in a breath. John’s words stung. Was it because he was right?

“It was either you or Abigail, ya didn’t want to share me and that ain’t my fault.” Nothing was ever John’s fault. “What you and I feel for each other, it ain’t ‘natural’ remember. Men like us, we don’t get a happily ever after together.” Being drunk made John brutally honest. Arthur was glad to finally hear the truth, even if it hurt.

John was standing on his feet now, only a metre from Arthur. He looked so small and helpless. Skinny, little body compared to Arthur’s thick and muscular frame, and yet the smaller man was causing more pain with his words than any bullet, knife or fist ever could.

“You picked the easy option. The safe one, and, when you can’t get your rocks off just how you like it, how I can give it to you, you come runnin’ back to me.” Arthur scoffed and John looked embarrassed and ashamed. 

There was an awkward pause. 

Arthur waited for John to say something. Anything. But nothing came. He just stood there with his mouth agape, like the words were stuck in his throat. Drunk brain trying to think of how to retaliate. All Arthur could do was sigh, his disappointment evident. Even now he was still hoping for John to turn around and say he made a mistake. That he wanted to be with him, but those words would never come. What a fool he was.

Arthur took out another cigarette and lit it, trying to act casual when really he was dying inside, “I can't be your back up option no more…” Arthur spoke around the stick in his mouth. Smoke floating from the gaps between his lips. “If I’m to move on with my life then it’s gotta stop now, Okay?”

John watched him and Arthur found his expression hard to read. It looked somewhere between pained and sick.

“Please, Arthur I…” John never finished that sentence as he hunched over, vomiting moonshine and the evenings supper, Pearson's stew, onto his boots. Sick. His expression was definitely sick.

With a roll of his eyes Arthur turned away and walked off in the direction of camp. He heard John call for him, his name a sob between wrecked gasps but Arthur refused to turn around. Even if it upset him to hear John’s voice that way. Even if all he wanted to do was hold him, kiss him, make love to him. If he was to close this chapter in his life he had to do so without hesitation. 

John made his choice and that choice did not involve Arthur Morgan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love John Marston to death but the game clearly shows he was a bit of a twat pre-RDR2, so I kind of wanted to explore his selfish, cowardly side haha.  
> I hope I did the boys justice :)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	2. Shattered

Arthur couldn’t stand to be in the same vicinity as the raven haired man any longer. He tried. Good lord did he try but every time he laid his eyes upon John a sharp stab of sadness would hit deep within his core, like someone had taken a serrated hunting knife to his gut and twisted. 

It wasn't like John was purposely making him feel that way. He probably had no idea. In fact the boy had actually kept his distance since their altercation a few nights ago. 

Arthur had thought that was what he wanted, to be left alone so his heart could heal, but the more he watched John moving on without him the worse he felt. It got so bad that Arthur had found himself acting hostile towards Abigail, who had been nothing but sweet and kind to him. It wasn't her fault. She didn't deserve it.

That was why he had to leave. Not forever. Just for a few days, to clear his mind and soul. A mini vacation of sorts. He would hunt and fish and drink with strangers in local bars and each night he would camp out under the stars and work on his art. Arthur found the thought rather pleasant and was even a little excited. It had been a while since he’d had some time to himself. 

Dutch was upset at first, even trying to talk him out of it. ‘We need you here!’ He would demand but Arthur had made up his mind and thankfully, after Hosea had a little chat with the older man, Dutch eventually came around, but not without pouting and huffing like a brat who’d lost their favourite toy first. 

Arthur prepared his black steed for the trip, securing his tent and bedroll to the back of the saddle. Then stocked his saddlebags with supplies and hunting equipment and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. His own personal satchel filled with all the items dearest to him. 

Arthur placed a foot securely into the stirrup and mounted his horse. He was just about ready to leave when he was abruptly halted.

“You goin’ away for a while?” John was standing a few meters away, hands in his pockets, watching Arthur with an expression that looked almost like sorrow spread across his face. 

“For a li’l’ bit, yeah.” Arthur answered from atop his horse, using the reins to turn the animal around, now facing the fields to the East of camp. The air felt thick with awkward energy, this was the most they'd said to each other for three whole days. 

“Where are ya goin’?” The desperation in the boy’s voice was oddly satisfying. Arthur hated how much he enjoyed it, how it gave him a sense of power he never usually felt with John.

John had stepped closer, his hand reaching up to grip at Arthur’s blue jeans, the fabric bunching tightly between his slender fingers. Arthur wondered if John even realised he was doing it, it’s not like they were in a secluded spot without prying eyes. 

“I won't be far, just South of Blackwater.” Arthur tried to reassure him. Although he wasn't sure why. 

There was silence now. John’s dark eyes scanning Arthur's face, his lips parted like he was trying to say something. The younger man seemed to be lost for words a lot lately.

“John.” Arthur couldn't wait for the younger man to work out what he was trying to say if he wanted to make it to his desired location before sunset. He was on a tight schedule, “would ya mind lettin’ go?” 

“Oh…” John quickly pulled his hand away like Arthur’s knee had suddenly caught fire. 

Arthur tipped his hat and gave the man a small smile and, with a snap of the reins, his horse galloped towards the East, leaving John - the source of all his woes, in his wake.

***

It was day three of Arthur’s getaway. So far it had been everything he’d imagined and better. No one would bother him, demand things of him and John only occupied his thoughts late at night when he needed a little help ‘beating out a confession’ before he’d settle down for the night. 

The first two days were spent being responsible. He hunted and forriaged for food so he could survive comfortably and gathered water to wash up with. Today however, Arthur would treat himself. He visited Blackwater, purchasing himself a nice deluxe bath and a long overdue hair and beard trim before stopping at the local saloon for a ‘quick’ drink. 

By midday he was off his face drunk with a couple of bounty hunters visiting the town from up North. 

They awed Arthur with stories of all the strange and mysterious things they'd seen in the Ambarino mountains. The smaller man described a legendary white bison as big as a house they'd once seen but lost track of. Then they both painted a verbal picture of the beautiful women that existed in a ginormous city called Saint Denis and later that evening one of the men, the bigger, burly one, sucked Arthur off behind the toilet stalls. It was reckless and Arthur loved every moment of it. 

It was two in the morning when the fun finally ended and Arthur had made his way back to his temporary camp. He couldn't quite remember how he actually got there, but when he arrived the fire was already lit and there was a figure waiting for him. 

“W-who goes’thrrr?” He slurred, eyes squinting through the boozy haze clouding his vision. 

The figure stood up and walked close, and Arthur reached for his gun, fingers grasping at the air, failing to find the handle by his hip. 

“Are…ya drunk?” The voice was scratchy and familiar. “I ain’t ever seen you this bad.” The man laughed loudly. 

“Marston?” Arthur was confused, he was aware he was drunk but surely he wasn't so far gone he was hallucinating. “What are ya doin’ h-here?” He hiccuped and roughly pushed past John to get closer to the fire. He lowered himself down to the ground in front of the warm flames. It felt nice against his skin. 

John seemed nervous as he followed. The younger man grabbed a pot filled with water Arthur had gathered earlier that morning from a small creek nearby, and poured some of the cool liquid into a tin cup. He handed it to Arthur who snatched it and gulped the water down like his life depended on it. 

“Erm, I needed to talk to ya but, it can wait ‘til you've sobered up.” John said quietly, arms resting on his knees as he watched Arthur from the other side of the fire, his dark features bathed in oranges and reds. Arthur couldn't look away. John had such a hold on him.

”How’d you find me?” Arthur asked curiously scratching at his neatly sculptured beard. 

”Ya told me you’d be South of Blackwater. I used my acute tracking skills from there.” They both laughed, painfully aware of how woeful John was at tracking.

They stared quietly at each other for a moment until the silence was broken by a loud yawn that forced its way out of Arthur’s throat. A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him and Arthur found himself wobbling to his feet, heading towards his tent. 

“Need t’sleep.” Arthur sighed as he pulled off his shirt, throwing it to the dirt without care. 

“Oh ok.” 

Arthur paused and tilted his head at the tent, “c’mon then.”

John’s face lit up like a candle and he scrambled to his feet, joining the intoxicated older man in the tiny one person tent. They both laid together on the small thin bedroll. John’s head pressed snug against Arthur’s chest. It felt familiar. Like they'd never stopped doing this.

“We ain’t fuckin’ so don’t get any funny ideas.” Arthur mused as he idly ran his fingers through John’s hair, tugging a little whenever a digit would get caught in a knot. 

“Please, do I look like the kinda man who’d take advantage of a drunk?.” John laughed and settled deeper into Arthur’s neck, his thumb tracing soothing circles along his bicep.

”A li’l’ actually.” Arthur smirked. 

Besides the dizzy feeling in his head and stomach Arthur felt pretty content and drifted off to sleep in what felt like seconds. 

***

Arthur awoke to the pleasant sound of birds chirping, the nearby creek trickling and John’s angry face glaring down at him. He squinted and groaned. Head pounding. Arthur guessed last night wasn't a dream after all.

“What's that?” John’s finger jabbed at Arthur’s throat, his voice was stern. 

“Hey, stop… what’s what?” Arthur grumbled, swatting John’s hand away as he sat up straight to stretch, back cracking loudly from the awkward position he’d been laying in. John threw a shaving mirror into his lap and crossed his arms like an impatient child. He looked his age for once. 

Arthur brought the mirror up to his face and angled it to look at the spot John had poked. A horse laugh left his throat as the mirror revealed a couple of small, round and angry bruises on his neck just above his collarbone. The memory of the big man he’d met last night, sucking on his skin, flashed through his mind. 

Arthur realised randomly that he never even got the bounty hunter’s name.

“Well?” John said, tone conveying just how put out he was by the marks.

“Guess I had a little too much fun yesterday.” Arthur shrugged, and John’s eyebrow twitched. “What do you care any who? You get to fuck other people.”

“I don’t like the thought of you fuckin’ anyone but me.” John growled. He was being possessive and it was agitating Arthur. Who did he think he was.

“You lost the right to feel jealous the moment you told me it was over between us four months ago, John.” Arthur had enough of John and his games, he came out here to escape the drama. “What are you even doin’ here anyway?” 

John threw his arms up in defeat. “I came here to tell you I’d made a mistake. I want to be with ya. I’m a fuckin’ fool for letting you go.”

Arthur was caught off guard, mouth agape like a stunned mullet, not quite believing his own ears. This was what he’d wanted to hear for so long so why did it feel so unsatisfying to finally hear it? Probably because he didn't believe a word out of John’s mouth anymore.

“You’re fuckin’ with me.” Arthur stated bluntly, moving to get up but John was blocking the exit. “Move, John.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ with you.” John’s hand raised to press gently to Arthur’s bare chest, keeping him trapped. “I’m a coward, Arthur. I was scared of what people would think. But I love you and don’t care no more.”

Those words hit Arthur like a tone of bricks. It was actually the first time John had expressed them out loud, even during the height of their relationship they had never been uttered by the younger man. 

Blue eyes scanned John’s face for a sign that this was all a joke, a little twist of his lips, a crinkle of an eye, but there was nothing of the sort.

John shifted nervously, “you gonna say somethin’ or —” The sentence was cut short when Arthur lurched forward, his large hands cupping the boy’s face as their lips mashed together in a rough, desperate kiss that felt long over due. 

The kiss was all teeth at first but quickly turned into something softer when Arthur parted his lips, giving John’s tongue access. The wet muscle rubbed across Arthur’s own, causing the older man to shudder and moan. He could feel John smiling against his mouth and Arthur suddenly felt a little self-conscious, pulling away to abruptly end the kiss. 

A small part of him still felt like he was being used. It was hard to shake. He felt broken, like he'd never recover from the heartbreak even though the man of his desires was right in front of him, holding him, saying those three words he longed for. Offering himself to him.

John had obviously noticed the older man’s apprehension and cupped his cheek gently, thumb running over his lips. 

“I'll tell Abigail it's over when we get back. I promise.” Their eyes were locked and, whether it was a good idea or not, Arthur believed him. Sighing as their mouths met again. 

Arthur was feeling bold now, spurred on by John's promise. His hand traced down John’s back to cup his plump arse, dragging the man up and onto his lap so he was snug against him as the kiss continued. They fit together so perfectly. There was no one else around for miles, so Arthur didn't mind when John let out a loud cry as his swollen cock rubbed against the other's through the fabric of their jeans. In fact he wanted to hear it again, so he rolled his hips up, then again and again, pulling those sounds from the other each time. 

“Arthur.” John whispered, leaning back so he could look into the man's eyes, his breath laboured, “if ya don't fuck me now I might just come in my pants.” 

Arthur laughed. John was never much of a sweet talker and he liked that about him. 

“Okay. Okay.” Arthur said as he awkwardly turned them, laying John against the thin bedroll. Arthur got to work on the younger man’s garments. First pulling down his suspenders so he could untuck and remove the black button up shirt. Then he worked on John’s boots and belt. Finally he slowly unzipped the dark jeans and pulled them down, biting his lip as John’s cock sprung free. Big and heavy with want. 

“Fuck.” Was all Arthur could manage as he quickly unbuckled his own belt, fingers fumbling to get the buttons undone and zipper down. 

John was idly playing with himself as he waited. Hand pulling lazily at his length, legs spread wide, inviting him in and Arthur thought he might be the one to come in his pants if John kept this up. 

It took longer than he wanted, but Arthur was finally naked, his own cock bobbing free, pointing towards the man beneath him and John’s expression changed to that of absolute hunger. He sat up, pulling the kneeling man in close so he could wrap his hands around the length. Pumping it loosely, like he wanted Arthur to feel good but not too good. 

“I don't know how I survived without this for so long.” John commented as though he was talking to himself and Arthur briefly felt like an object, but he didn't have a chance to stew on it as John’s lips wrapped around the head and sucked, tongue swirling around it in a way that had Arthur rocking his hips. Pushing in deeper. John happily took it all with a moan, his nimble hands working at the base as his head bobbed up and down. John had a talent for sucking cock. 

This had to stop or Arthur feared he wouldn't last so he pushed the boy back, his mouth popping off the length with an obscene, slick sound, and John laid down onto the well worn blankets. Arthur gripped the younger man's knees, spreading him open, everything on display. 

“Stay like that.” Arthur panted and turned to rustle through his satchel for the petroleum jelly. He brought the stuff everywhere; you never know when it might come in handy. 

John obeyed. Watching quietly as Arthur slicked his fingers up. 

Arthur nestled in between the man's parted legs and brought his hand down, circling a single digit around his little hole, only pressing in when he felt John impatiently pushing down against it. 

John arched his back off the bedroll when Arthur slid deeper inside, husky voice breaking as he keened for more and Arthur happily gave him more, pulling the finger out to replace it with two. He crooked them upwards, trying to find the spot that made John weak at the knees, knowing exactly when he’d found it because John all but howled, body trembling against him. 

“More, more.” John begged, head lolling against the pillow in pure ecstasy. Long black, sweat slick hair sticking to his face. Arthur pressed against that spot a few more times, letting John have what he wanted. 

Arthur couldn't deny himself any longer, the scene below him was too much, he needed to be inside the man. He removed both fingers and scooped out more of the Vaseline, coating his length in a generous amount. Then he hitched John’s legs up high around his waist and aligned himself with the man's entrance. 

John’s legs squeezed around his hips tightly and Arthur took that as approval to press inside, slowly, biting hard at his bottom lip as he fought against his own urge to roughly pump his hips forward. John groaned as the head of Arthur's cock popped through his tight ring, filling him, and he began grinding his hips down when he was comfortable enough to move. 

It felt good, making love to John again. Nothing else mattered in this moment. Arthur couldn't help himself and leaned over to capture the others chapped lips within his own. The kiss was sloppy but John responded eagerly, moaning into Arthur's mouth as their bodies began to move in rhythm. Each time Arthur's hips snapped forward John would gasp like the air had been punched out of him. Arthur found it encouraging and began to move with more urgency. 

“Touch me.” John instructed between breaths and Arthur nodded, reaching between their bodies to grip and pump the twitching cock trapped between them. 

The sounds of nature around them was drowned out by heavy breathing and the slap of skin against skin. It was too much and with a particularly rough thrust Arthur came, filling the man beneath him with his seed.

“Yes.” John exclaimed, his muscles squeezing around the spent length inside him, milking it of every last drop as he climaxed shortly after, coating their skin in his semen. 

Arthur gently pulled out and rolled next to John, both men still panting loudly. He allowed himself to look over at his lover and reached a hand up to gently brush his hair from his eyes. 

“I love you.” Arthur said tentatively and John smiled. 

“Love you.” Came the response and Arthur leaned in to steal another kiss. Lingering his lips against John's, savouring the moment. 

***

The two men spent the next few days alone together in the wild. Arthur taught John how to hunt and survive properly because honestly, the man was atrocious at it, and each night they'd spend together in the small tent making love and just enjoying being in eachother's company. It was almost too good to be true and Arthur didn't want it to end, but all things had to end eventually. 

It was time to head home.

They packed their things and hopped onto their horses. John insisted that he hang onto the tent and bedroll which Arthur thought was a little strange but he didn't argue. 

On the ride back John was unusually quiet and solemn. 

“Everythin’ okay?” Arthur asked him, snapping John out of his daze.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sorry, lost in thought.” John would reply each time he was asked.

About an hour from camp John abruptly stopped his horse, looking nervous. 

“Shit, I forgot I had to pick somethin’ up at Serenity for Dutch.” John said, eyes averted, “you, uh, can go on ahead and I'll meet you.” 

Arthur cocked an eyebrow “I can come with, I don't mind.” Something felt off. 

“Nah, it's outta the way. I'll just see you back at camp. Won't be too long.” John turned his horse around, quickly looking back at the older man. “Go on. Love you and see ya soon, okay?” He gave a weak smile and nudged his horse with his heel, riding off in the opposite direction. 

“Okay then…” Arthur said under his breath, feeling uneasy. He continued towards camp alone. He felt sad but convinced himself he was just being needy.

***

Arthur arrived back home in the late afternoon, waving a greeting at Javier who was on guard duty. 

“Welcome back, vago” the man laughed and Arthur playfully flipped him the bird. 

"Good to see you too, Javier."

Arthur hitched his horse to the closest post and began removing his gear. There wasn't as much to unpack with John holding onto half of his things for him. Arthur swung the heavy saddlebags over his shoulder and made his way to his tent when Abigail came rushing over looking quite upset and flustered. 

“Arthur! Thank goodness you're back. John’s missing.” She sobbed and Arthur laughed thinking the girl had gone mad. How could John be missing when he only just saw him. Abigail didn't appreciate Arthur's bemused expression and glared. 

“Sorry, but what do you mean, Abigail?” Arthur cleared his throat, tone changing to mock seriousness, to hide his confusion. 

“He left five days ago without a word…” she fiddled with the hem of her blouse before continuing, “after I told him I was with his child.” 

Arthur's eyes widened with shock, mind trying to piece together what was going on. The timing aligned with when when John had found him. The strange way he was acting on the way home was starting to make sense. Arthur didn't want to believe what his gut was telling him but deep down he knew it was right... 

“He insisted the baby wasn't his but I know it is! I'm certain.” Abigail said angrily. “I fear the coward has run away.”

Arthur knew he had, and his heart shattered into one thousand pieces. What an idiot he was. He hadn't even seen it coming. John tricked him, used him for his own pleasure. Nothing the man said was real or true. He never intended on coming back with him or breaking it off with Abigail. He lied. He was a liar and Arthur fell for it all. All these thoughts raced though his mind at once. 

Arthur felt hatred filling the space in his chest that was occupied by love only hours ago. 

He was quite the pathetic fool and Arthur vowed to himself then and there that if he ever saw John’s face again he’d kill him.

***

A little over a year had passed and not much had changed. The Van der Linde gang had gained a couple of new members, one of which being sweet baby Jack Marston. They'd changed location of camp half a dozen times or so and, Arthur was now in a committed relationship with a lovely woman named Mary Gillis, whom he was certain he'd marry some day. Overall life was pretty good. Thoughts of the past, a certain man, only creeping into his mind during his darkest days.

On this particular Thursday Arthur was on guard duty. It was as dull as a doorknob with nothing remarkable happening. Usually he'd meet a wanderer who’d lost their way or he’d strike up a conversation with some passers by but today, nothing of the sort took place until the late evening when the sound of hooves against rain wet mud caught his attention. It was too close to be nothing. 

“Who goes there!?” Arthur shouted raising his repeater in the direction of the noise. 

“Don't shoot.” Came the reply. Voice husky. Familiar. 

Arthur lowered his gun as the figure emerged from the shrubbery and Arthur held his breath in disbelief. Long buried feelings of anger and pain rushed to the surface as he took in the man before him. 

Long black hair, dark mysterious eyes, the same lithe figure but with a little extra meat on his bones. His face had aged but was still recognizable. 

“Morgan.” John said with a tilt of his head, somehow he managed to look please to see him and ashamed all at once. “Good to see you.” 

Arthur forced himself out of his stupor and raised his gun at the man, cocking it. 

“Marston.” 

John Marston was a dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry haha. I feel so bad for my bby boy Arthur but I wanted to write something a little angsty for once!
> 
> I’m actually considering writing a sequel about how Arthur deals with John back in his life now that he’s with Mary but we will see!
> 
> Also obviously I’ve changed the timeline around completely to suit my narrative haha. 
> 
> Anyway thank you for reading and I hope you liked it! <3


	3. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided, instead of making a sequel, I’d just add the rest of the chapters here haha, so yeah, this story is continuing on! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Ps: it’s super late so there may be mistakes, which I’ll probably go back and edit and fix in the morning haha. So, sorry in advance!

The rain began to pour as though on queue and the two men stood at an impasse. Not one of them daring to move or be the first to open their mouth. Arthur's gun was cocked and his finger ready on the trigger. If John didn't turn around and leave, he would shoot, or he had at least convinced himself he would. 

How dare John come back. How dare he leave Jack and Abigail, but most of all, how could he leave him after everything that had been said between them a year ago. 

Arthur could feel that familiar rage bubbling back up from deep within his gut, climbing higher until it became a tightness in his chest. The same anger he had only recently healed from. Arthur mentally reminded himself that John was a liar and a scumbag and focused, pushing down the dark thoughts threatening to cloud his mind and judgement. 

John hopped off his horse and raised his hands as a sign of peace. He was the first to speak after what felt like a lifetime of silence. 

“Arthur, I’m so sorry—” but Arthur didn't want to hear it. He shook his head and raised his carbine repeater higher, barrel aimed at the young man’s head. 

“I don't wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses or your hollow apologies,” the rain was running down the rim of his hat and his clothing soaked through, but, despite the chill against his skin, Arthur's body remained an unmovable force. “We don't take too kindly to deserters ‘round here. Now, you got ten seconds to turn around and get outta here before I put a bullet between your eyes.”

Arthur hated how harsh his voice sounded and the flash of pain across John’s face hurt him more than he cared to admit, but he wouldn't let John back in. He couldn't. Life was perfect now and having John around to open old wounds just wasn't on the cards. 

It didn't look like John was taking his threat seriously, though. Arthur would have to remedy this.

“Ten.”

“Wait! A-Arthur, please—” John stuttered waiving his hands to get Arthur to stop the countdown.

“Nine.”

“I know what I did to you was—”

“Eight.”

“I have information for Dutch.”

“Seven.”

“Just let me speak to him.”

Arthur pulled the trigger, bullet whirling past John’s face, missing him by an inch. John jumped, hand raising to his cheek to rub at where the wind from the slug brushed past his skin. His dark eyes were wide with shock, staring into Arthur's blue eyes from between his soaked black hair, like he was the one who was being betrayed and not the other way around. 

“Next shot won't miss. Six.” Arthur warned.

John gnawed at his bottom lip, hesitating, before finally he lowered his hands and sighed a soft “fine,” under his breath. 

The young man reached for Old Boy’s reins, but before he could climb onto the saddle the sound of shouting and boots sloshing though the mud could be heard in the distance, from the direction of the camp. 

“Arthur? Everything alright, Arthur?” Dutch shouted as he emerged from the forestry. Their leader, carrying his dual pistols in hand, ready for a fight. 

Dutch was followed closely by Bill, Javier and Hosea. All three were sporting weapons and immediately had them pointed up and towards the stranger shrouded by the darkness of night.

“We heard a gunshot.” Hosea said, slightly out of breath. 

“Dutch. Hosea. Bill. Javier.” John nodded to each of the four men as he spoke their names with that husky, unforgettable voice that still, after so long, put Arthur on edge. “Good to see you all. Wish it were under less… hostile circumstances.” John’s hands were raised again, showing the group he had no weapons drawn. 

“John?” Dutch stepped forward, now at Arthur's side, his pistols holstered much to Arthur's disgust. “I can't believe you're back. Arthur lower your gun, for Christ's sake! What are you doing shooting at John, you fool?” Dutch placed a hand to Arthur's repeater, forcing it down, and then made his way towards John, wrapping his arms around the boy in a soggy, wet embrace.

“Dutch… you can’t be serious?” Arthur said, voice cracking with shock and anger. “Marston deserted us and you're just gonna act like that ain't never happened?” 

“I'm sure the boy has a good reason.” Dutch had his arm around John’s shoulder, holding him tight. Arthur quickly skimmed John's face, their eyes locking for a brief moment and John quickly looked down and away like a scolded dog.

“Come, come. Let's get back to camp. It's freezing out here and we’re all soaked.” Dutch said as he lead John past Arthur and the others and off towards the dimly lit tents. Bill took Old Boy by the reins and followed the others. Javier not far behind. 

“You alright, Arthur?” Came Hosea’s soft, calming voice from Arthur's flank. Hosea placed his hand against his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Let’s just see what John has to say for himself before passing judgement, okay?”

Arthur sighed and shook his head in disbelief but didn't bother arguing. “Fine.” 

The rain had settled into a light shower when Arthur and Hosea had reached the camp. Everyone was already gathered around Dutch’s tent to welcome the golden boy back to the gang. Questions about where he'd been and comments about how grown up he looked were being shouted and Arthur noted how uncomfortable the man looked under Dutch’s wing. 

John gave him a quick glance and Arthur turned away. Arms folded as he joined Abigail at her tent. She was watching the commotion from a distance.

“Can you believe that scoundrel decided to show his face here again?” She spat, hands on her hips. 

Arthur lit a cigarette and shrugged as he puffed down the nicotine. 

“Heard you shot at him.” She said with a smile. “Too bad ya missed.”

Arthur laughed. A year ago Abigail was a sweet, innocent little thing, but since John abandoned her and their unborn son she'd grown into a sassy, cynical woman. Arthur quite liked it. 

“Believe me, I wanted to shoot him.” Arthur sighed and took another long draw of the roll then offered it to Abigail who waved it away. 

“Gonna introduce him to Jack?” Arthur asked after a moment of silence. 

“I guess I'll have to eventually…” Abigail said, her posture changing from indifference to defensive at the mere thought of it.

“Arthur Morgan, those things will kill you.” Mary Gillis called as she hurried over to the two of them from the crowd around Dutch's tent, arm linking with Arthur's. She reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips, throwing it to the ground and stomped it out with her heeled boot. Mary never did like the smell of them. 

“I'm sorry my love.” Arthur smiled and placed a peck to her soft lips. She recoiled at the smoky taste. 

“So this is the infamous John Marston I'm always hearing so much about.” She mused as the three of them watched on. “He looks like a scared, little boy.”

She was right. John looked so awkward up there with all the attention on him. The old John would have loved it, reveled in it, but something had changed in the year he was gone, he wasn't the same confident boy he used to be. 

“He’s a liar and a snake.” Arthur muttered and noticed both Mary and Abigail glance up at him with unreadable expressions. Neither of them aware of what John and Arthur used to share or why Arthur held such animosity towards the other man.

“What exactly happened between you two?” Mary asked with interest but Arthur was saved from answering, from lying, when Dutch called for everyone's attention. His arms reaching up to gesture for the members at the back to come closer.

“Everyone come close. My boy has returned to us bearing news of an exciting prospect. Go on. Tell ‘em what you told me.” Dutch smirked, pushing John forward. 

“Uh,” John looked around nervously, eyes scanning the crowd until they stopped on Arthur's face, quickly looking down to see the man’s arm linked with a woman he'd never met. Arthur lowered his arm to her waist and tightened his grip to pull her closer, it was wrong to use Mary to make a point, but he did it anyway, enjoying the frown that covered the younger man's face.

Clearing his throat and looking away, John continued. “I uh, met an O’Driscoll in a tavern in the East, he didn't know who I was and we got to drinkin’,” John chewed his lip and shuffled his feet.

“Keep goin’.” Dutch encouraged.

“He must have been bitter about somethin’ because after a bit he was spillin’ details about how Colm was sittin’ on somethin’ real big. Somethin’ that was gonna make them filthy rich.” 

Everyone in the crowd glanced at one another. Excitement and curiosity spread across their faces. It seemed to give John some of his old confidence back. 

“He mentioned a map that Colm had hidden in his office in their hideout in the West Grizzlies. He didn't say the exact location but we could scout the area—”

Dutch landed a heavy slap to John’s shoulder, cutting him off and sending the boy lurching forward. “My boy is a clever one!” Dutch praised and Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes. “I need time to think this through, but, ladies and gentlemen, I think we got ourselves a plan brewing.” 

Everyone cheered at the promise of a new job. It had been so long since they'd had any real leads and the men were getting antsy. This was just what they needed. 

“Now lets go get some rest, that's enough excitement for one night.” Dutch smiled and the crowed slowly dispersed. Mac and Davy had their arms wrapped around John, grilling him further as they showed him to where he'd be sleeping.

Arthur and Mary had already made their way to their tent, both laying side by side in silence on the thin bedroll. 

“Everything okay, my dear?” She asked, placing a soft and gentle hand to Arthur’s arm. “You're awfully quiet. Well, quieter than usual.” 

“Sure. I'm fine. Just tired.” He grunted and shrugged her hand off. It wasn't Mary’s fault. Arthur wasn't sure why he was being so short with her, but he really didn't want to talk about it. Instead he rolled over with a sigh, back to his partner, and close his eyes. 

Of course Golden Boy John Marston could abandon the camp, his family, for over a year and then come waltzing back looking better than ever, with a ridiculous plan, and is instantly welcomed home with open arms. 

The thoughts rattled around in Arthur's mind until he fell into a restless sleep. Images of their last few days together, the memories of John's body against his and the things he'd said and promised filling Arthur’s dreams.


	4. Loyalty

Of course Dutch threw John, the runaway, the coward, a fucking welcome home party the very next day. 

The two of them had spent the whole morning huddled in Dutch’s tent, going over exactly what John knew about Colm and his secret ‘get-rich-quick’ map. Formulating a plan that no one else could know about until it was perfect. If Arthur was being honest with himself he would admit that he was jealous. Jealous of John or jealous of Dutch he wasn’t quite sure, though. 

Now it was late in the evening. The sky was clear and covered in beautiful, bright stars, the camp was glowing orange with the light from the bonfires and everyone was dancing and having a jolly old time. John was the centre of attention. Right where he belonged. He looked at home, like he’d never actually left. It made a heat pool in Arthur’s chest and not the nice kind, his whole body was tense. Relaxing with John around just wasn't an option.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Arty?” Came Mary’s sweet voice. She had been asking him that a lot over the last two days.

“Yes, I’m truly fine, Mary.” Arthur lied, stubbing out the cigarette he’d been furiously puffing on for the last ten minutes. Hand coming up to wave the remnants of smoke away from Mary’s direction. 

Mary sat down beside him on the log by the fire and leaned her head on Arthur’s shoulder. They were both quiet for a moment before she spoke again. 

“I should go home tomorrow. My father will be wondering where I am and if he finds out I’m here with you he’ll—”

“He’ll lock you away and forbid you from seein’ me again.” Arthur answered with a roll of his eyes. Mary’s father hated him, always had. Arthur would never be good enough for his daughter and Arthur knew that. Hell, he tended to agree with the old man, but Mary is a grown woman. If she wanted to waste her time with a scoundrel like him then that’s her prerogative. 

“Will you escort me back home?” She asked, looking up. Arthur turned to face her and gave a weak smile. 

“Yes, of course I will, my love.” and Arthur placed a small kiss to her cheek and that seemed to satisfy the woman as she nuzzled in closer.

“Hey Mary! Get over here, girl!” Called Karen. Both Arthur and Mary turned around to see the blonde waving her hand in the air, trying to get Mary’s attention.

“I have been summoned.” She laughed at Karen’s enthusiam. “I’ll be back.” Mary got up from where she was seated. “Try and have a good time okay, Arty?” Arthur nodded and kissed her hand. Mary walked off in the direction of the Karen and the girls. 

Arthur was now sitting alone, watching the light from the flames dance around on the ground and the back of Javier’s tent. Even the fire was having a better time than he was. God, he was such a party pooper, Dutch was right to call him that. 

Arthur lit another cigarette and took a puff as he noticed a figure sit on the log to his right. He didn’t bother looking up, it was obvious who it was.

“Marston…” Arthur muttered around the cigarette. 

“Arthur.” The younger man said, voice soft and tentative, as though he was worried he might frighten Arthur away, “can we talk?”

Talking was the last thing Arthur wanted to do right now, but he had a feeling John was going to talk to him no matter what his answer was. 

“Sure. I ain’t going to stop you.” he said cooly, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible under the circumstances. 

John fidgeted with his fingers, picking at his nails as he tried to come up with the best way to start. His knee was bouncing with nervous energy, the shadow from it flickering in Arthur’s peripherals and it was starting to drive Arthur insane, so, without thinking he snapped his arm forward, gripping John’s knee tightly to still the incessant bouncing. Both men froze on the spot. Eyes locked for only a second or so but still, it was a second or so too long. 

There was a pause before Arthur snatched his hand back and placed it in his own lap, his face was warm and it wasn’t because of the fire in front of him. There was a thickness in the air now, awkward and uncomfortable. He could feel John staring at him. John was always staring. 

“Well?” Arthur said to spur on the conversation, not daring to look in John’s direction.

“Oh, uhm.” another awkward pause, “Mary seem’s nice. Ya seem happy together.” John said, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh meanly. 

“Is that what you wanna talk about?” Arthur scoffed, “me ‘n’ Mary?”

“Gee, no, but… I dunno Arthur, this is hard for me, okay?” John stuttered. The boy was so self conscious now. It had Arthur wondering what caused such a change in him. Was it regret? Did something happen to him? He’d ask except he didn’t want John thinking he cared. Arthur most certainly did NOT care. 

“Hard for you, huh?” Arthur mused around his cigarette. Smoke spilling from his nostrils and between his teeth. “Excuse me if I do not care about how hard this is for you.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for sympathy, Arthur…” John said, eyes averted, attention now on the dirt beneath his boots. 

“Yes, me ‘n’ Mary are happy together,” Arthur said, changing the subject back, “and we don’t need you gettin’ in the way. So stay away from her. Stay away from us both, a’right?” Arthur’s voice was a growl. He was staring directly at John, trying to get the message through and John shrunk away, looking quite small under Arthur’s looming gaze. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” John said, getting to his feet. 

“Just… fuck off, John.” and he did.

***

The next morning Arthur was helping Mary pack her belongings into a small wagon. There was so much stuff: multiple suitcases of garments, heels and hats, tonics and perfumes. The woman had no idea how it was to live modestly in a little caravan like theirs.

“I think next time,” Arthur grunted as he hurled a suitcase into the back of the cart, “perhaps one suitcase is enough. I have yet to see you wear half of these outfits.” 

“I am not living like a ruffian, Arthur.” She retorted, gesturing to the camp. She waited by the side of the wagon for Arthur to assist her into the passenger seat. 

Mary’s comment stung a little. A reminder of how beneath her he was, but Arthur shook it off, just thankful a woman like Mary was even interested in being in his presence in the first place. Arthur made his way over and cupped his hands low, letting Mary step her heeled boot into his palms and he straightened his knees, lifting the woman up and into her seat. He then made his way to the drivers side.

“Arthur! Arthur, come here.” Dutch called from his tent as Arthur was about to climb onto the wagon, “I need to talk to you about something important.” 

“Can’t it wait, Dutch?” Arthur sighed, tilting his head towards the wagon and Mary, trying to hint that he was in a hurry. 

“It wont take a moment.” Dutch insisted and walked back to his tent without waiting, like he knew his right hand man wouldn’t be far behind.

Arthur looked up at Mary who was looking down at him with annoyance and disappointment written all over her pretty face. She knew as well as he did that when Dutch beckoned Arthur would follow him like a pathetic, loyal dog.

“I’m sorry, I wont be long.” He said and she turned away with a huff.

Arthur hurried to the tent and peered inside. The first thing he noticed was John leaning against the stack of crates Dutch used as a table. 

“What’s he doin’ here?” Arthur asked like John wasn’t standing right there. 

“I need you and John to scout out Colm’s hideout.” Dutch said getting straight to the point. “I want to act on this fast, we need to know if they’re planning on moving on soon or if we have some time to make our own move first.”

“What? Why me ‘n’ John?” Arthur said, voice exasperated. He couldn’t believe Dutch thought sending the two of them out alone together was a good idea, had the man gone absolutely mad? It was pretty clear Arthur wanted nothing to do with the boy.

“Because, Arthur, you’re my best man and John knows where the O’Driscoll’s hideout is located in the Grizzlies.” came their leaders answer in a tone that suggested Arthur was a moron for not knowing this. 

Arthur was not okay with this at all. Being alone with John was not something he thought he’d be experiencing so soon, but Dutch was serious and the more anyone argued with Dutch the more set he was on his original idea. The man was as stubborn as a bull.

“Can Williamson or Mac or, hell, even Uncle, come with?” Arthur was desperate. 

“No. I have them working on other things.” 

“Fine. Let me just escort Mary back home and—”

“It has to happen now!” Dutch shouted over Arthur, the volume caused both John and Arthur to freeze. Their leader calmed himself and continued, “I don’t know how much time we have before they leave their current location and we lose track of them.”

“Dutch, please.”

“I’m sure it can wait, Dutch.” John tried to chime in, giving Arthur a sympathetic look.

“It’s happening today. That is final.” and Dutch flicked his wrist at Arthur, dismissing him from the tent like he couldn't stand to look at him any longer. 

Arthur growled angrily to himself as he all but stomped his way back to the wagon, almost like a child. Mary had shuffled over to the drivers seat, reins gripped tightly in her petite hands. She wasn't looking at him but he could see her furrowed brow and her cheeks were tinged a pinky-red. Arthur knew he was in trouble.

“Mary I…” He didn’t know what to say. 

“I already know you will not be escorting me, Arthur Morgan.” She said firmly. Yup, she used his full name. He was in her bad books, “I know this life comes first, Dutch has you wrapped around his little finger. It’s pathetic really.” There was venom in her words. 

“I can get Hosea to take you home? I would feel better knowin’ he was with you.” Arthur said shuffling his feet, but Mary raised a hand, shutting him up.

“Do not bother. I will take care of myself, seeing as how my beau is incapable of it.” and with that, she snapped the reins and Arthur was left fanning the dust left in the wagons wake from his face.

Arthur watched her shrink away into the distance. It was only yesterday he was telling John not to get in between them and now, because of John and his stupid plan, Mary was mad at him. Arthur couldn’t wholly blame the younger man though. It was also his loyalty to Dutch that often caused rifts in his relationships. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.

What a useless, spineless idiot he was.

“Ya ready?” John’s voice startled Arthur from his thoughts.

“Don’t sneak up on a man like that, you fool.” he growled, hand gripping at his chest to still his heart. 

“Sorry, just… we should probably get goin’?” 

John was right. The West Grizzlies was at least a full two days journey, maybe longer, depending on the weather and if they stumbled upon any unforeseen circumstances along the way. 

“Fine. Get your horse ready.”

This was going to be an interesting few days, Arthur thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur just can’t catch a break haha.  
> I kinda feel bad for him even though I’m technically the one ruining his life right now. >_>
> 
> Also I can never remember who came into the gang and when so, sorry for any inaccuracies in that department. :P
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think :D


	5. Old Times

John stumbled from the bar over to the table where Arthur was seated, four shots of whiskey in hand, the concentration on his face clearly visible as he tried his hardest not to spill any of the liquid gold before the two men could gulp it all down. 

“Don't you dare waste a drop,” Arthur warned. He could feel the heat radiating off his cheeks from the three beers and four shots he'd sculled earlier. It was a pleasant buzz. One he hadn't felt in a while. 

“M’tryin’,” John slurred finally placing the glasses safely on the table. He gave Arthur a cheeky grin, as though he was proud he’d managed to do something as mundane as carrying shot glasses across a room. 

Arthur found himself smiling back as the the two of them grabbed a glass each. They tapped them on the table, clinked them together and then poured the liquid down their throats, coughing and spluttering at the heat from the alcohol. 

After a full ten hours of riding in awkward silence, the sight of Blackwater was a welcome relief. Originally, Arthur wanted to continue on but, with a little convincing from John, he agreed to stop at the local hotel for a meal, a couple of drinks and a night in a real bed. Only, a couple of drinks turned into half a dozen once Arthur realized John was happy to shout him. Obviously thinking he could buy his way back into the man’s good books. It could work. 

“Feels… feels like old times, huh?” John reminisced as he grabbed for his second shot, pouring the drink down his throat with ease, the burn no longer affecting him. 

“Simpler times,” Arthur agreed and followed suit, liquid falling from the corner of his mouth, as he slammed the second glass down onto the table.

They both sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the nearby piano playing a jovial tune while all kinds of people chatted and danced and sung along. For a brief moment Arthur thought the clocks went back a year or two, to when it was just him and John against the world. Back when they'd visit hotels out of town for a drink and…

Arthur's thoughts were cut short when John broke the silence between them. “So, Mary didn't seem too pleased before we left. You wanna talk about it?”

“There ain't nothin’ to talk about.” Arthur said, feeling frustrated at the fact that John had noticed his and Mary’s misunderstanding earlier that day. 

“Are you happy?” John’s dark eyes locked into Arthur's blue ones and the older man found it hard to look away.

“Of course I am.” Arthur's eyes darted to the left, trying to focus on anything but the strange mix of emotions he was feeling deep within his core. “Mary, well, she's perfect. In every way.” He continued. “I ain't sure I'm good enough for her.” 

Arthur quickly glanced up at John, the younger man looking at him with that stupid concerned expression he used to wear back when Arthur would say things about himself John didn't like. 

“Don't look at me like that.” He grunted. 

“Then stop puttin’ yourself down. She don't deserve you anyway.” John shrugged.

“Don't be stupid.” Arthur scoffed, but found himself flushing. Even now, after everything that had happened, John still had that affect on him and he hated it. Arthur was just thankful his face was already rosy from the alcohol. 

“I mean it!” John leaned forward, elbows resting on the old wooden table, “she don't appreciate our way of life and she sure as hell don't appreciate you.”

“Oh? And I suppose you do?” Arthur snapped back, “was you leavin’ for a year you showin’ your appreciation for me?” Arthur was leaning forward now too, the two of them face to face and, despite the anger, Arthur felt his heart skip a beat. He blamed the alcohol.

“I’m sorry for that, Arthur. I've been tryin’ to explain myself for the last few days but you ain't giving me the time of day.”

“You don't deserve my time.” 

John looked down, and for a moment Arthur felt bad, wanting to take it back but he was stubborn and too full of pride for that.

Then, an unfamiliar hand slapped itself down hard on Arthur's shoulder. “Would you two queers take ya li’l’ domestic outside? Ya makin’ us all sick.”

Arthur laughed and glanced up at the stranger, an eyebrow cocked and a sneer spread across his face. “Excuse me, but what the fuck did you just say?”

“You deaf as well as queer?” The man answered, face equally as smug. 

“Oh, I heard you.” And, without a seconds hesitation, Arthur had risen from his seat and swung his right arm, clocking the man in the jaw. His large body flew back and landed heavily onto a table occupied by a group of three men, their drinks flying and glass shattering on the ground around them as the table splintered into pieces.

“What in the hell?” One of the men said, rolling up his sleeves as he lurched for Arthur. His fist missed its target, Arthur elbowing him in the ribs in response. The man doubled over in pain as his two companions’ threw punches in Arthur's direction. Some missing and a few connecting. 

Blood sprayed from Arthur's face as one particularly hard punch landed on his cheek, splitting the skin.

John had gotten to his feet, rushing over to Arthur's side. He grabbed one of the men by the shirt, throwing him off Arthur, and knocking him out with a swift punch to the nose.

“You alright?” John panted. 

Arthur nodded, wiping the blood from his face. 

The entire bar had broken out into a brawl, half the people involved not even sure what they were fighting about, but that didn't stop them from throwing punches, smashing beer bottles and brandishing knives. Men were standing on tables, looting the bar, screaming and shouting, and yet the automated piano kept on playing that cheery tune.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here.” Arthur laughed, grabbing John by the sleeve and tugging him roughly towards the stairs, “this is gettin’ outta hand.” 

John nodded and followed. The two of them stumbling up the stairs, dodging flying bottles and random punches until they'd made it safely up to the second level of the saloon and into the room Arthur had booked for the night. John slammed the door shut and locked it. He turned around, leaning against the door to catch his breath. 

“Holy shit.” He laughed and looked at Arthur who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, an equally large grin on his battered face. “Can't fuckin’ take you anywhere.” 

“Hey, I don't start the fights,” Arthur smirked, breath short, “I finish them though.”

“Your face says otherwise.” John had left the door and walked over to Arthur, grabbing his chin to tilt the older man’s face up. He examined the gash on his cheek. “Well it won't need stitches at least.”

They were quiet for a brief moment, just looking at each other. John’s thumb idly running across Arthur’s lips. The touch was ever so soft. Arthur’s heart was pounding, he wondered if John could hear it. 

“John,” Arthur pulled his face away and looked down. “Don't.” 

“Don't what?”

“You know what.” His words were barely a whisper. The vulnerability in his voice was a shock to even Arthur himself, but the booze had opened the flood gates and Arthur found he couldn't keep it in anymore. “I don't think I can handle it again.”

“I'm sorry, Arthur.” John cupped Arthur's face, thumb now brushing against the bloody scratch on his cheek, as John forced the older man to look up at him, “I'm such an idiot. I really did— still do love you. I was goin’ to break it off with Abigail when she told me she was pregnant, that the baby was mine… I panicked. Couldn't think straight,” John’s eyes never left Arthur's as he continued, “I ain't normal, it ain't right, bein’ attracted to men. How could I raise a kid when I'm so fucked up? But I was too scared to be with you either and I’d made up my mind, you and Abigail were better off without me, but I had to see you first. I couldn't muster up the courage to tell you though, because I'm a selfish coward. I see that now. This ain't an excuse, what I did was so fucked up, I know that, but I’m gonna prove to you I've changed.”

“John…”

“Leavin’ you is my biggest regret.” The younger man sighed.

Arthur watched John, looking over his features. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes and the regret in his face. The face that seemed to have aged a decade in the year he was gone. Arthur wasn’t sure he could trust what he was hearing and seeing, he’d been fooled by John before after all, but his alcohol riddled brain and constant lust for the man before him caused him to grab John by the collar without so much as a second thought, and he pulled him down, capturing his lips in a surprisingly soft kiss which John was more than happy to reciprocate.

John smelled and tasted like alcohol and cigarettes and that something else that Arthur couldn't quite pinpoint. It was so uniquely John. So familiar and nostalgic. 

A soft moan escaped John’s throat as Arthur forced his mouth open, tongue dipping inside to lick and rub against John's. Arthur's hands gripping at the muscled mounds of the younger man’s arse, pulling him closer until the only place John could go was up onto Arthur’s lap. Their bodies now flush up against one another.

The kiss was intense and they were both panting when John pulled away. “Wait, wait.” He said tilting his neck back in habit as Arthur began sucking and licking at the spot below his jaw. 

“Why?” Arthur growled, body rutting up against John's. He nipped the angry red bruise he'd made on the younger man’s skin and John yelped.

“‘Cause, ah, we’re both drunk as fuck and I wanna make sure it's right, that you, hnn, a-actually want this.” Arthur had cupped John’s covered cock and was rubbing it roughly and John had to grab his arm to cease the movement.

“I don't need you to tell me what I want.” Arthur snarled, capturing John’s lips once more as his free hand wandered to the hem of the younger man's cotton plaid shirt, raising it to slide his fingers underneath. 

Instantly John’s hands were on Arthur's wrist, gripping it tightly in place as though he was scared of something. “Arthur, wait. Please.” He said tentatively like he knew the wrong words could change the whole mood of the moment. He wasn't wrong to think that.

“What? You don't wanna fuck? That's what this is all about, right? It's what it's always been about with you” Arthur said, brows furrowed as he tried to loosen John’s grasp.

“That's not it. Things are different now. And- and what about Mary? Don't be like me.” John answered, tugging Arthur's hands away, “you're better than that.” The younger man slipped off Arthur's lap and took a few steps back, dark eyes never leaving the angry blue ones before him. 

“Oh, get the fuck off your high horse, Marston.” Arthur’s voice was rough and laced with venom as he stood up and crowded into John’s space. “Ya come back from a fuckin’ vacation to god knows where and suddenly you're Mr Morals?” 

“I assure you it weren't a vacation, Arthur,” John answered, a tang of frustration lacing his words.

Arthur just rolled his eyes and grabbed John’s shirt raising it before the other man could stop him. The sight of John’s skin caused Arthur to pause, eyes scanning the chest and stomach before him. It was dotted with little red scars he’d never seen before. They were fresh and round like burn marks. By the way the scarring looked they were new, at least a month or less.

“What… what happened?” Arthur asked, taken aback. Arthur's eyes shooting up to look at John, concern and confusion spread across his face. 

“It's nothing.” John snapped, his face was red with what looked a lot like shame. John slapped Arthur's hands away, as he tucked his shirt back in. 

“It ain't nothing, fuckin’ tell me, John.” Arthur grabbed John's wrist before the younger man could turn, but John wasn't having it and ripped his arm away.

“Honestly, fuck you, Morgan.” He spat and stormed to the door, unlocking it, before turning around to say, “get some rest, we’ve got another long ride tomorrow.”

“John, wait…” but the man had already left, the door slamming closed behind him. 

“Fuck.” Arthur brought his palms to his face and rubbed his eyes in frustration. 

Arthur now stood alone in his room, staring at the door with shock on his face. He didn't really understand what just took place, but he was starting to realise something bad may have happened in that year John was away. John's change in personality was starting to make sense now. Arthur wasn't quite sure how to approach it, or if he even should, but decided he'd tackle it in the morning. He was far too drunk to be tactful with John right now.

Despite the comfy bed, Arthur struggled to sleep that night, images of those marks and John’s hurt, embarrassed expression swimming around his thoughts. The way he reacted filling him with shame and regret. Arthur tossed and turned until finally, hours later, he fell into a restless and broken sleep.

When morning came John was already saddled up and ready to go. No cheery good morning or tentative, hopeful smile. No begging to stay for breakfast just so they could spend more time together. Just a nod of his head as he climbed atop his horse. It hurt Arthur more than he cared to admit.

The two outlaws began the next leg of their journey towards Colm’s hideout in utter silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that took me a long time to get out. I knew exactly what I wanted to write but couldn’t get the words out haha. Good old writers block. 
> 
> Anyway inspiration finally hit! I hope the wait was worth it 😄 
> 
> John and Arthur really need to work on their communication skills...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I really hope you enjoyed the story. Please feel free to leave a comment if you can, I love reading them!
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
